The Time Trilogy
by denise1
Summary: Jack's hesitation has consequences he can't even imagine. 'icky het' warning for Sam/Jack, multiple character death
1. Too Little, Too Late

Too Little, Too Late

By

Denise

It was a trap.

A first year cadet would have seen it; hell a Girl Scout could have seen it. In hindsight, Colonel Dave Dixon knew he should have listened to his guts, heeded that hinky feeling in the pit of his stomach that screamed that something just wasn't right.

But he'd ignored those feelings; let them get pushed aside by the tempting lure of naqahdah and promises of trade.

The natives on P3X831 had been so generous, so welcoming, that he'd seen no danger in passing along their suggestion for the general to come.

They hadn't insisted, hadn't pushed or coerced in any way, they'd just issued the invitation, planted the seed of an idea in his head and let it lie. There, buried in the recesses of his imagination, it had germinated and grown, slowly turning from a vague idea to a fully formed proposition.

Dave hadn't even questioned when he'd returned to Earth and briefed the general. If the rest of his team thought he was overstating the importance of the general signing the treaty himself-- in person-- they didn't say a word. Nor did they even put forth the idea that the signing of the treaty, take place at the SGC. A simple fact that should have served as one final warning that something was afoot.

In the end, the general had come, a small degree of life and enthusiasm lighting his tired eyes as he stepped up the ramp, looking more at home in bulky gear than he ever had in his Class A's.

There'd been a spring in his step, a straightening of his back as reality dawned. After more than a year of pushing paper, he was back in the saddle again, a member of a team again, even if it was just for one trip, one planet, one last hurrah.

Dave had hoped that this trip would revitalize the man, renew his spirit and finally banish the shadows put upon his soul by one fateful decision a dozen months before. The one that doomed three people to death—Jack's own former team members and friends.

Today, Dave learned a vital, painful lesson. Hope is for the young, while grief and regret are for the old.

Today, Dave realized that he was old.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack O'Neill was no stranger to the inside of a cell. It was a dubious distinction, one that harkened back to his humble Chicago beginnings.

He still remembered the first cell he'd ever spent time in. Gray painted cinder block walls, harsh fluorescent lighting, the ever present small of urine and bleach, both struggling to overcome the other.

They thought that night in the klink would 'scare him straight'. In reality, all it did was confirm his belief that the world was full of people who thought that respect automatically came with a uniform or a title. That it was some sort of divine right, instead of something to be earned.

He'd left the next morning, no more respectful of 'authority' but with the conviction that the one true way to win was to beat them at their own game. Not to break their rules, but to bend them so far that they eventually gave up, forced to change if for no other reason than to save face and stop looking like such a putz.

Time and again in his adult life, he'd spent time behind bars. Most of the time, it was simply the result of a few too many at the local watering hole, a little too much enthusiasm on downtime or the occasional 'superior' officer who thought fear bred respect.

Only twice in his life did a cell engender the appropriate response.

The first time it was a dark hole buried under the burning sands. Dry desert heat drained his body as foreign speaking tormentors attacked his soul.

The second cell was as clean as the other was dirty, bright as the other was dark. Where his first had been primitive, harkening back to the barbaric days of old, this was neat; bright and open, hinting at a sanitized and sterile future. There were no clanging bars, no stone floors, yet it was alarmingly the same.

Both places he'd been kept against his will, both times he'd been tormented, both times he'd screamed and cried.

And both times he'd begged to die.

How different things would be now if he'd gotten his wish then. He would have been first, not last, victim not survivor, deceased not mourner.

One simple thing would have changed history for the better and he knew it, even without Ziggy to quote him the odds.

It looked like he may finally get his wish, he thought, his eyes idly scanning his current surroundings. It was just too bad that yet another SG team was going to die because of him, all five of them betrayed by scared spitless natives.

This cell was like any other on a mother ship. Angled walls, barren floors with plain shelves jutted out, providing both bed and seat. The door was blocked by the same mesh like bars he'd seen so many times before.

They were all crowded in here, and Jack looked at their faces. Balinsky was scared, his pale face a stark white that made his red hair even more vibrant. Bosworth and Wells were seated together, both trying to look tough and failing. If they didn't get out of here soon, Wells was gonna miss his kid's second birthday party.

Dixon was seated next to Jack and he was the most calm, almost as if he enjoyed the adventure. Of course, the man had four kids in elementary school; anything else had to be a vacation.

Five kids. Five little ones that stood a chance of being orphans now, the chance of growing up with 'dad' being nothing more than a fading memory and a tri-folded flag on the mantle.

Five more lives to add to the long list of ones Jack had ruined.

"Now what?" Dixon asked softly. Jack raised his eyebrows, looking at the man. "Don't get me wrong Jack, but you've been here more than we have. How'd you get out before?"

"With a little help from my friends," Jack said. And it was friends that had helped them. Tok'ra, Jaffa...Felger. All their escapes had come as a result of an unexpected or unknown ally.

They didn't have any allies any more.

Nobody had heard from the Tok'ra in months, not personally. There were still rumors, stories that the resistance had been infiltrated so deeply that it was splintered beyond repair. Reports that they were down to a few hundred, or even a few dozen. And the only war they were waging now was a war for survival. They were now the hunted.

Multiple System Lords had served for millennia to keep the balance of power on an even keel, and it had also served to keep the Tok'ra in existence. When the System Lords were fighting amongst themselves, they paid no heed to the bothersome Tok'ra. But now that the System Lords were no more, Ba'al had nothing better to do than quash **all** resistance.

And the Tok'ra weren't his only victims.

The Jaffa Resistance had also suffered. Without a leader, the former slaves emulated their former masters. They fought amongst themselves, seeking land and power. With Bra'tac's and Raknor's deaths, they ceased to care about the Tau'ri any more. Only the Asgard had kept the Goa'uld from attacking Earth, which was another reason the Jaffa cared little about the primitive and weak humans.

They resented the Asgard's choice to protect Earth and not them. A resentment that only grew when Earth refused to allow the remaining Jaffa to seek shelter their planet. The Jaffa felt abandoned, and so they returned that feeling ten fold.

Earth was alone now, more alone than it had been in the beginning, back in those idyllic days when humans could stroll into Apophis palace, and not only not be attacked, be invited to dinner.

"Jack?"

Jack shook his head. "It's me they want. That much is obvious. They might let you guys go," he said, knowing that he was toying with being cruel, giving them false hope. Then again, Ba'al just might let them go. If for no other reason than to make sure they carried word of Jack O'Neill's fate back to Earth.

"Ever the optimist," Dixon drawled.

"That's me, Mister Positive," Jack quipped, drawing a bit of comfort from the black humor. It'd been a while since he'd done this, bantered with a member of his command. Dixon was one of the few at the SGC that didn't walk on eggshells around him.

Something that Jack appreciated more than he could ever show.

"Maybe some of the locals—" Bosworth suggested.

"We're on a ship, Jake," Wells interrupted.

"I know."

"Goa'uld ships don't tend to have stowaways."

"It could happen," Bosworth insisted, his tone rising indignantly.

Jack chuckled, his amusement fading as boot steps echoed down the hall. He looked over and saw that Dave heard it too. "You get a chance, take it," he ordered softly.

"Jack—"

"Orders," Jack interrupted, raising one finger.

Dave nodded, accepting Jack's words, even though it was clear he didn't agree with them. Right on cue, four Jaffa marched around the corner, their destination clear. The Jaffa marched up to the door and Dixon motioned to his men, telling them to remain seated. "You," the leader said, pointing at Jack.

"Last I heard, he was dead," Jack replied. The Jaffa frowned, clearly not impressed with Jack's humor. "KREE!" Two of his companions lowered their staff weapons, aiming them at Wells and Bosworth. "Got a flare for the dramatic, I see," Jack said, getting to his feet.

The Jaffa lowered their weapons and Jack stepped forward, pausing as the man opened the cell door. He walked out, relieved when the door clanged shut behind him. "Save me a piece of cake," he said, glancing back at SG-13.

"I suppose you want ice cream too?" Dixon asked.

"Only if it's choc—"

"Enough!" the leader interrupted, giving Jack a shove. He stumbled a bit, then regained his balance, falling into step between the quartet of Jaffa. They led him through the maze of corridors and he scanned at each junction, trying to gauge the strength of his captors.

He saw a few other Jaffa, but not nearly enough to be manning a ship of this size.

Which meant that they were either busy elsewhere on the ship or Ba'al's forces were stretched a wee bit thin. Either way, he hoped that it would play into finding a way for SG-13 to get out of here and back home where they belonged.

They arrived at the bridge and Jack paused, letting his escorts open the door for him. He strode into the room, not surprised to see an ornate throne in the center. "Still going with the Harem look I see," he said loudly, looking for his host.

"It is far better than the pitiful accommodations I was subjected to." The speaker walked out of the shadows and, despite himself, Jack stared.

"This is a surprise," he drawled as Camulus walked towards him. The goa'uld was dressed similarly to the last time Jack had seen him, a tunic and kilt, boots and a cape. His dark hair was longer and was tied at the nape of his neck. He was paler than before, a paleness that was accentuated by a myriad of scars that marked his exposed arms and the uncovered part of his chest.

"I would imagine that it is," Camulus said coolly.

"Oh, come on. You're holding a grudge?"

"Your betrayal cost me months in Ba'al's dungeons," Camulus said, moving so close that Jack was forced to take a step back. "But I have no need to tell you about that, do I? Or have your memories faded so quickly?"

"You know, they say memory is the first thing to go," Jack quipped, refusing to play into the goa'uld's hands. Camulus was just trying to rattle him, put him on the defensive.

Camulus chuckled and walked in slow circles around Jack. "I have heard that about humans. It is the one thing that makes them such perfect hosts—the fragility of their minds."

"Ah, and I thought it was for our good looks?" Jack shot back.

"Silence," Camulus growled.

"What do you want?" Jack asked, his levity vanishing in an instant.

Camulus chuckled again, striding past Jack to sit on the throne with a flourish of his cape. "Surely you have figured it out by now."

"Spell it out. Words of one syllable or less," Jack said, glaring at the gloating goa'uld.

"Perhaps, as a reward, my lord will allow me to watch," Camulus said. "I shall enjoy watching you scream."

"Camy, ya gotta know, Ba'al's just using you," Jack said. "The second he feels threatened, you're toast."

"You do not think I am aware of that?" Camulus gloated, getting up from the throne. "I am happy to serve my lord however he wishes me to serve," he said loudly as he walked towards Jack. He leaned in close, his mouth just inches from Jack's ear. "Until the time is right and I can slay him while he sleeps," he whispered.

"You're a peach," Jack quipped as Camulus stepped back, motioning his Jaffa forward.

"I am your god. And you will do well to remember that."

Jack snorted. "Cam, the last time I believed in God was sometime back in the twentieth century." Two of the Jaffa grabbed Jack's arms and he struggled against them. "Camy! I'm the one you want. The whole thing was my idea. Let the others go."

"Perhaps it is time for the Tau'ri to learn a lesson. Resistance is death," he pronounced. "They shall die. And your cooperation determines if it is to be a painless death." He made a dismissive gesture and the Jaffa pulled Jack from the room, their enhanced strength rendering his struggles useless.

Jack stopped dragging his feet and walked with them, determined to present a controlled image to SG-13, presuming he was returned to the same cell. Dixon's men probably knew that they were going to die, but he saw no need to totally dash their hopes.

"Shel kek nem ron?" Jack muttered, hoping to garner a response. Just because the Jaffa rebellion was no longer organized didn't mean it no longer existed.

"Hataka!" one of them growled, giving Jack a vicious shove. He fell forward, decades of instinct leading him to duck one shoulder, rolling to his side instead of crashing to his knees.

"Come on," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. "You're nothing but cannon fodder to him. He'll sacrifice your lives in an instant."

"He is our God, that is his right," one of them insisted.

"And what about your rights?" Jack shot back, struggling to his feet. "Wouldn't you like to make your own choices? Live where you want to live, go where you want to go?"

"Silence!" the leader yelled, stalking forward and grabbing Jack's arm. "Only the risk of my god's anger keeps me from slitting your throat."

"DO IT!" Jack said, moving close to the Jaffa. He leaned in, close enough that he could smell what the man had had for lunch. He grabbed for the man's dagger, stopped by the Jaffa's iron grip. "You know you want to," he taunted. "Brag to your friends that you killed O'Neill. Come on. Or are you too much of a coward?"

The man's nostrils flared and Jack held his breath, anticipating a killing blow. Blue fire washed over him and his hope was crushed.

His nerves screaming, he fell to the deck, the Jaffa landing on top of him, the man's bulk squeezing the air from Jack's lungs.

The world turned gray around the edges, then black and Jack mercifully lost consciousness, his last thought the desperate prayer that he'd never wake up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You acted too soon."

"They were going to kill him."

"They're too beaten. What about the others?"

"Asha is with them."

"Tell her to just get them to a gate. They can find their own way home. What about him?"

"We have no choice. Help me get him to the glider bay."

Two hands grabbed Jack under his arms and pulled him up, confirming that the voices were real, not some dream. He struggled to open his eyes, succeeding only to find his vision blurry. Nausea bubbled in his stomach and he closed his eyes, content to just let them carry him. Wherever they were going, it had to be better than Ba'al's dungeons.

One of the people carrying him let go and Jack felt the other tighten their grip, assuming more of his weight. He tried to help them, struggling to lock his knees. He heard the tell tale whine of a zat and figured they'd run into some resistance.

"Come," the voice urged and Jack was maneuvered forward. He forced his eyes open, blinking at the dizzying sight of an endless row of death gliders. They made their way to the nearest one, the cockpit dropping down to meet them. He was manhandled into the back seat, his muscles still reeling from the zat. A hooded figure climbed into the pilot's seat and started flipping switches.

Feeling distinctly useless, Jack reached for the controls, planning to help with pre-flight. "Stop!" the person snapped.

Startled, he let his hands drop into his lap as the glider's engines revved into life. The bay doors opened and they dropped into space.

The glider swooped away and Jack was grateful for the inertial dampeners. Without them, he knew he'd just be a smear on the canopy.

They dashed through space and Jack could see his surroundings for the first time. The hatak was in orbit around a planet, P3X831 he guessed, not remembering feeling the lurch of a jump into hyperspace. A pair of lights began to flash on the console between his knees and his heart gave a lurch that had nothing to do with the erratic flying.

"We got bandits on our ass," he said, punching buttons to zoom in on the display.

The pilot started to swoop and dive, putting the craft through maneuvers Jack had only seen in the movies. The two following them opened fire and lasers danced around them as the pilot cart wheeled out of the way.

They ended up behind one of them and the pilot opened fire, destroying the glider. Laser fire arced across the canopy and Jack yelped, instinctively cringing as the glider buzzed them, coming so close that he could see the welds on the bottom of the craft. His pilot wheeled, pulling the glider in a tight, inverted loop, firing once they'd reached the apex. "Yes!" Jack cheered as the second glider was destroyed.

Debris blossomed around them and his glee turned into dread as he realized that they couldn't miss it. Pieces of shrapnel rattled as it collided with their craft. Alarms began to flash and wail in a language he didn't know as their enemy got the final say and their glider started to surrender to one inexorable fact, the relentless pull of gravity.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He heard birds.

That was odd. Since when did goa'uld ships start having birds?

He opened his eyes, staring stupidly at the crumpled console in front of him. A death glider? What the hell was he doing in a—Jack sat upright, muttering a curse when his abused muscles protested the sudden movement.

That was right, their glider had been damaged and they'd had to land, choosing to crash on the planet rather than returning to the Hatak and almost certain death.

They.

The pilot. "Hey!" he said, leaning forward. The pilot was out of reach, slumped over the controls. He looked around them. They'd crashed through the trees; the conifer sentinels obviously having slowed them enough to make the crash survivable. But it also meant that they'd left a mile long trail, one even a Jaffa could find. They'd come after them. Camulus couldn't risk disappointing Ba'al, and neither could his Jaffa. Pursuit was inevitable. "We gotta get out of here," he muttered.

Fortunately for him, the canopy had already retracted, which was why he'd heard birds. He braced his arms on the side of the cockpit, pulling himself up from his seat. He carefully stepped out onto the wing and looked around. So far, he couldn't see any signs of pursuit, but he was sure that would change.

"Hey?" He reached into the front seat, checking the pilot. "You still with me?" The pilot moaned and shifted, one hand coming up to weakly bat at his. "They're gonna come after us, we gotta go," he urged.

The pilot reached up and pushed the hood back, revealing shoulder length brown hair and a distinctly feminine face. "I am here," she said, blinking her eyes to clear her vision. "This was not my best landing," she said wryly.

Jack shrugged. "Any landing you can walk away from—"

"True." She levered herself up out of the seat, taking a quick look around. "The gate is that way," she said, pointing off to her left. "I think we're maybe thirty clicks away."

She climbed out of the cockpit and stood on the other wing, her hands grasping the edge tightly. She wavered slightly and he frowned, afraid of what would happen if she passed out. The death glider's wings were several feet off the ground and, while a fall might not be fatal, it wouldn't be fun either. "You ok?" He reached out towards her, surprised when she shook off his hand.

"Yes." She gave him a weak smile. "They will easily find this glider. We must get as far away from here as we can.

"No argument from me," Jack said, sliding down the wing and landing awkwardly on the ground, grimacing as his knee voiced its protest of his actions. His companion followed suit and stood beside him.

"We will need to maintain a quick pace. A Jaffa's endurance will outstrip a human's." She looked around them. "The woods are thick, but perhaps we will find a game trail that will make the going easier," she planned.

"What about SG-13?" Jack asked, changing the subject.

"If Korra did his job right, they should be safely home by now," she said. "Our plans were to extract all of you, however your…interaction with Rak'al changed that."

"Rak'al?"

"The Jaffa you were exchanging words with. He is Ba'al's First Prime and is charged with insuring that Camulus behaves himself, although I do not think Camulus is aware of that fact. Ba'al still has his sarcophagus and he could have revived you had Rak'al lost his patience, but that would have taken time."

Jack nodded seriously. "What's your name?"

"What?" She frowned at him.

"We got a long walk and 'hey you' is a little awkward."

She smiled, shaking her head a bit. "Kalina."

"Well, Kalina, I'm Jack O'Neill. It's nice to meet you. Now, which way is that Stargate?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack walked behind Kalina, his mind swirling with questions. So the Tok'ra weren't as dead as he'd been lead to believe. Korra was still alive, as was his friend. At least, he thought she was a Tok'ra. They didn't tend to hang with normal humans much, although their prejudice against humans may have changed. Desperate times did bring desperate measures and just because her eyes hadn't started glowing yet, didn't mean that she wasn't one of them.

And these were desperate times. Not only were the Tok'ra dying, but the goa'uld were too. That was the only good thing that had come from Ba'al's rise to power. He'd done it on the backs of thousands of his brethren, killing every goa'uld that opposed him without quarter, with no mercy. It was now estimated that the total goa'uld population numbered in the hundreds, if not less.

Ten years ago, Jack would have thanked Ba'al. But ten years ago Earth wasn't even a blip on the goa'uld radar. It was just a matter of time before they'd come after Earth. Which was what had made the loss of his team—former team—so hard for him.

They'd lost three of their best, just when they, when he, needed them the most.

He heard the unmistakable gurgle of a stream and was suddenly aware of just how dry his mouth was. "Let's take a break," he said softly, careful to pitch his voice just enough to be heard and not enough to carry.

She stopped and turned, frowning at him. "I have no way of knowing if the water is safe for human consumption."

"Dehydration's worse," Jack said. "If I do pick up a bug, chances are it won't hit me for several hours. We should be back at the gate by then."

"As you wish." She changed course, leading him towards the sound of the water. Fortunately, the stream was just a few dozen yards away. It tumbled clear and fast over moss covered rocks. It wasn't a large stream, more of a brook and was only a few feet across and even less than that deep. Both of then knelt at the edge and drank deeply.

Jack took a chance to study his rescuer, the first he'd had since their escape from the hatak. She was tall and thin. Her brown hair nearly matched the color of her tunic and hung loose and straight around her face.

There was nothing memorable about her. She was just…ordinary. She drank deeply, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.

"I thought all the Tok'ra were dead," he said softly.

"Most are," she replied. "Just a few small cells remain."

Jack nodded. "I was wondering—"

"Jacob Carter is dead," she interrupted. "I think Korra is the only other one still alive that ever had contact with the Tau'ri."

"What happened?" he asked, somehow not surprised that the Ex-general had perished. The man's year long absence now made sense. For the first few months after SG-1's disappearance, Jack had greeted each incoming wormhole with a mixture of dread and hope. Hope that somehow they'd come back, and dread that Jacob would visit and that Jack would have to tell him that he killed his daughter.

"He was killed on a mission." A whine pierced the air and Jack instinctively looked up, relieved when he saw nothing but the canopy of trees. "Even if they can't see us, they will track us down," she said. "We need to keep moving."

"Just tell me one thing," he asked, ignoring her urgency.

"We don't—"

"SG-1. Are they dead?" he asked urgently, willing to dare hope for a miracle. Could they still be alive, even after all this time?

"SG-1 is gone," she said simply.

Jack closed his eyes, her confirmation striking him in the heart. He'd known, somehow, he'd always known. But he'd been able to ignore it, push it aside and keep a tiny glimmer of hope alive.

A glimmer that her three simple words now snuffed out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack stumbled over an unseen tree root, cursing softly under his breath. They had been walking for several hours and the sun had set a little while before, casting the already dim forest into near total darkness.

Ahead of him, Kalina plodded on, obviously not affected by the gathering darkness. She stopped, reaching out to grab Jack's hand. "We should rest," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The planet had almost no night music and Jack knew that, in the relative quiet, their voices would carry over a great distance. "There." She pulled him forward, leading him to a large fallen log.

The forest of the planet was old, older than any Jack had seen. Trees towered hundreds of feet into the sky and their trunks were ten to twenty feet around. As they'd walked, he'd noticed some fallen trees, behemoths lying forlorn at the feet of their brothers, felled by maybe a storm or simple old age. They quietly rotted away, some serving as nurse logs to infant trees, and all slowly returning their nutrients to the soil, completing the circle of life.

She led him to the other side of the log and directed him to a small hollow under it where the soil had been washed or worn away and the tree served as the roof of a shallow cave. It wasn't a perfect shelter, but it was definitely better than lying out in the open. With luck, if any Jaffa caught up with them, they would pass right on by.

"I have no food," she apologized, pulling her legs up and tucking them close to her chest to try and preserve some warmth. The night wasn't cold, but it was growing distinctly chilly as dampness settled in. Jack knew that by morning, it would likely be foggy or misty. He just hoped that it wouldn't rain.

"I'm not hungry anyway," he said, trying to stretch within the confines of their cramped refuge. He was sore from the crash, abused and pulled muscles now starting to ache as he sat and they cooled. He'd be stiff in the morning, that much was a given.

"You should sleep," she said softly.

He stared off into the dark, knowing that she spoke the truth, he needed to rest. But his brain wasn't quite ready to listen to his body just yet. Her words from a few hours before still echoed in his mind. 'SG-1 is gone.'

Gone? What kind of a word was gone? That didn't tell him anything. Gone? Gone where? They couldn't just be gone, not SG-1, not his friends. They'd fought too long and too hard to just…go.

"How did they die?"

"What?"

"SG-1," he specified. "How did they die?"

He heard the soft rustle of her hair as she shook her head and sighed. "It doesn't—"

"It matters," he interrupted.

"I don't know much."

"Then you know more than I do. Please, they were my friends," he begged.

"Friends you left behind," she shot back.

"What?"

"We heard. They had established a wormhole with Earth, they could have made it home, but you refused to open your iris," she accused. He could feel her stare; see the condemnation in her eyes even though it was pitch dark.

"Yes, I did," he said.

"Why?"

"It was procedure. Anyone who'd been compromised couldn't return directly to Earth. They needed to go to the Alpha Site first and get evaluated," he explained.

"A wise procedure," she agreed. "However, it is one that was not always followed."

"No," he said softly, thinking of all the times he'd been the recipient of Hammond's benefit of the doubt. How many times the old man had opened the iris, even though all the rules and protocol said that he shouldn't. "Just a few more seconds," he muttered.

"What?"

"Just a few more seconds. I opened the iris, but before I could tell them that it was safe to come home, the gate shut down," he said, again experiencing the sick feeling in his stomach as the gate closed. Remembering how he stared at the empty gate, willed it to re-open. He vaguely remembered sitting down in a chair, maybe it was Harriman's, he couldn't recall. All he knew was that his legs would no longer support him and it was either sit down or fall down.

He sat there for hours. Wishing the gate to open, begging it to open, praying for a miracle. He sat there all night, finally relenting when Dave came in the next morning, casually suggesting breakfast while his eyes whispered empathy.

He'd gone with him then, not because he was hungry, but because he knew, knew it was over, knew they'd never come home, knew he'd waited too long. That his efforts had been too little, too late.

A hand grasped his arm, silently offering comfort. Jack ignored her. He didn't want comfort, didn't need empty words or trite phrases. He needed to go back in time, change his mind, make his decision just a few seconds sooner, save his friends lives.

"Teal'c died first," she whispered. "It was ironic that the strongest among them was also the weakest."

"Tretonin."

"Yes. He tried to hide it, but he grew weaker every day." She shifted a bit, turning to face him. "When the stargate closed, they fell back into the forest. To this day, the survivors speak of the ferociousness of their fighting.

They ran for days, barely sleeping, struggling to scavenge for food from the very people they were running from. Each day, Teal'c's strength waned. Finally, he fell. He knew that he was dying, and knew about Ba'al's sarcophagus, so he asked Carter for Sha'kek."

"Sha'kek?" Jack asked, not familiar with the term.

"Mercy," she said.

"Oh," he said, knowing what it would have cost his friend to ask for mercy. Knowing how Teal'c hated to lose, and would never quit.

"Because of the sarcophagus, they had to destroy the body," she continued. "The Jaffa tradition was immolation, however they lacked the time, so the zatnikatel had to suffice."

"Zatted him three times?" he asked after a few seconds, more to fill the silence than for confirmation. They would do that. They'd discussed it once, the viability of using zats to dispose of corpses. Actually, Jack's idea had been to use it for garbage disposal but still, the theory was valid. Even Carter had said so.

"Yes."

"Carter? Daniel?"

"They fled into the hills, getting farther and farther away from the stargate. The Jaffa hunted them for weeks. Drove them further and further away, kept them on the run. They grew tired, hungry. Eventually…eventually they made a mistake. Doctor Jackson was captured." Jack closed his eyes, not wanting to hear anymore but knowing that he had to. "Ba'al tortured him for days, weeks," she said. "He did it down on the planet, so that Carter could hear. He knew she wouldn't leave her friend, knew she'd stay close."

"Daniel was bait."

"Yes. But she never surrendered. Her knowledge of Earth and the Tok'ra was too valuable to give to Ba'al. She could have killed herself but, then Jackson would have been alone, with no hope of rescue."

"God," he groaned, resting his head on his hand. Suddenly, he was glad he hadn't eaten as the thought of what his friends had been through made him physically ill. How had she stood it? Kalina was right, Carter wouldn't have left Daniel. She would have stayed close, been ready to jump on any chance to free him. She would have listened to it all, watched it all, kept it all in that super economy sized memory of hers.

"By then, word had spread," Kalina continued. "The Tok'ra found out. Not surprisingly, Jacob wanted to launch a rescue, but he was denied by the council."

"Why?"

"The risk was deemed too great. But he went anyway. Getting no help from his kind, he sought out assistance from the Jaffa."

"Bra'tac?"

"And Ry'ac. They infiltrated the planet and snuck in, but it was too late."

"Too late?"

"Doctor Jackson was…no more. And Carter." She sighed. "Jacob did get to see her before he died. I am sorry General. There was little we could do. We were too few and Ba'al's forces are too great."

"Yeah," Jack muttered.

"Even if you do not sleep, you should rest," she said. "It is likely that we will meet resistance at the stargate. And I do not believe that the native people will be of much assistance."

She fell silent and Jack stared off into the night, his eyes now able to see faint tendrils of mist forming amongst the trees. They wafted and floated like a wraith, reminding him of whispered tales of Banshees and spirits. Specters that haunted the living, never allowing the solace that came with fading memories.

Jack would never know solace, never know forgiveness, never forget.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the end, getting home was astonishingly easy.

Jack and Kalina left their refuge at first light, silently making their way through the awakening forest. He knew there was a village near the gate, and Jack feared for them.

He knew Ba'al wouldn't think twice about killing them. If it came right down to it, he was ready to surrender, anything to keep more blood from staining his hands.

Wanting to remain unseen, they skirted the village, coming up to the Stargate from its rear.

Much to his surprise, they found Korra waiting for them. "I thought you would make it today," he said, getting to his feet.

"Korra," Kalina greeted, moving forward to clasp his hand.

"Not that I mind but--where's Camulus?" Jack asked, surprised by the surrealism of an easy retreat after their speedy flight.

"Lord Yu attacked Ba'al's home planet," Korra reported. "I am afraid, General O'Neill, that Ba'al found the need for reinforcements important than capturing you."

Jack shook his head. "Ah, well, you win some—SG-13 make it home?"

"Yes," Korra nodded.

Jack turned to his rescuer. "Kalina, you're welcome to come back. Let me at least buy you dinner for saving my six. Korra, you too."

"I thank you, General but—"

"We prefer to keep our fate free," Korra interrupted.

"And we do have other matters to attend to," she finished, glancing at Korra.

Jack nodded. "Well, the invitation's open. Just make sure to call ahead."

Kalina watched as he stepped up to the DHD, quickly dialing an address and leaving the planet. It snapped shut and left her alone with Korra.

"Thank you," she said, clasping her friend's hand. Korra was one of the few Tok'ra left that she knew personally, and one of a bare handful that she really trusted. So many of the others were so caught up in destroying the goa'uld, they seemed to have little time left for anything and anyone else. "I know you risked a lot to help me."

Korra chuckled. "So the council will be angry, what else is new," he said. "They just don't want to admit that they are wrong in abandoning the Tau'ri."

"I am in your debt," Kalina said.

"Will you return to Morana with me?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I need to get back," she declined. "I will meet you there in a few days."

Korra nodded, stepping back to allow her access to the DHD. She pressed the glyphs for her destination and watched the wormhole open. Giving Korra one last smile, she climbed the steps to the stargate and walked through.

She emerged on another planet, several hundred light years from the one she'd just left. Taking a moment to orient herself, she started walking away from the stargate, making her way to a small village a few miles away.

Like the other planet, grass filled plains led up to dense forests, which provided a rich supply of game for those that lived here. It was an idyllic place; far enough from Ba'al's territories that they hoped it would avoid his notice for many years.

She was well known here. She visited as often as she could manage, sometimes staying for days or weeks at a stretch. If the galaxy was a perfect place, she would stay here all the time, however there was one universal constant, the need to barter for goods. And to do that, one needed something to barter with.

She was the designated 'bread winner' and often left for days at a time, bartering and trading. Her contact with the Tok'ra was limited at best.

Which was precisely how she liked it.

For the most part, she maintained her tenuous relationship with the Tok'ra just for situations like the past two days. She may not be taking an active role in the state of the galaxy, but it didn't mean she planned to just find a quiet corner of the universe and ignore it either. Especially when it concerned Earth.

She reached her goal, and knocked on the door, barely remembering to reach under her tunic and remove the small round device stuck to her chest. The world shimmered slightly and she shook her head to clear it. The silly thing always gave her a headache. It wasn't a perfect recreation of the mimic devices, but rather a meshing of Asgard holographic technology and Earth acquired knowledge.

"Kalina," Sy'nac smiled, opening the door. Her hand rested gently on her swollen belly. "I was hoping you would return safely."

"Sy'nac. You look well," Kalina said, studying the woman's burgeoning form. She was just a month or two away from giving birth to Ry'ac's first child. It pained Kalina that Teal'c would never get to see his first grandchild. He would have been so proud.

"I feel like a grounded hatak ship," Sy'nac complained, her smile belaying her words.

Kalina smiled, amused by the woman's words. In a way she envied her, she had the perfect life. Ry'ac was nothing like the petulant young child he had been years ago, but a strong and capable warrior, a trait Kalina knew he got from his father.

Their home was simple, yet Kalina felt more at peace here than she ever had in her own home. She knew it had been a difficult decision for Ry'ac, to leave the rebellion and concentrate on his family, but it was a decision she didn't think he regretted. He once told her that, as much as he admired his father, he was going to do one thing differently, for him, family was first, not his people. Freedom was an empty victory if one was alone.

"Where is he?" she asked, looking around to see the small common room of the house empty. It was a simple structure, a large lower room which was kitchen, dining room and living room all wrapped up in one, and an upper loft where they slept. Due to the fact that there were three and sometimes four, adults living there, Ry'ac had added another room just off the kitchen. Things got a little crowded when it was cold or rainy, but most of the time, it was just right.

"Nesa is outside with him," she said. "They promised to collect some berries from the patch down by the stream."

She and smiled at the woman, then turned and made her way back outside. She followed the well worn path, waving at Ry'ac as she passed him working in the field. She strolled down to the stream, relaxing as the sun warmed her back and the breeze teased her hair.

O'Neill was different than she had expected. Smaller, more fragile than in her memories. His dark eyes had been full of pain and regret instead of the confident cockiness she had once known.

He was a man under tremendous pressure, bowed by time and grief, but not broken. Not yet.

The sound of laughter carried on the light breeze and Kalina smiled, altering her path to intersect with it. She came upon the berry patch, two full baskets attesting to the success of their owners' task.

Bending over, she plucked a handful of berries from the basket, popping them into her mouth. They exploded with a burst of sweet juice and she chewed, her tongue neatly working the pit free to be spat upon the ground, a seed to help the patch replenish itself.

She came to the banks of the stream and paused, watching the pair. They were playing in the water, splashing and frolicking like children.

She loved to see him so happy, his creased, tanned face alive with childish delight. "Sam!" he yelled, looking up and catching sight of her. She waved back, climbing down the bank to meet him.

He was the only one that called her that, the only one that she allowed to. To the rest of the world, 'Sam' was dead, one in a long line of victims of Ba'al. She was Kalina, a simple trader. A mysterious figure with a scarred face and cold blue eyes. Her scar made her memorable, she knew, absently tracing the rough ridge that ran from her temple to her chin. Which was why she often depended upon the assistance of her jury rigged mimic device. With it, she was not the blue eyed blonde her friends knew, but a non-decrepit, ordinary looking woman. Not ugly, but not pretty, just ordinary.

"Daniel," she smiled, bracing herself for his enthusiastic hug. His arms wrapped around her and she closed her eyes, pretending for a moment that things were different. That her friend was whole instead of a shell of his former self. "Have you been good?" she asked, gently pushing him away.

"Yes," he nodded, his face innocently open. "I was good. We picked berries," he bragged, proud of his accomplishment.

"I saw that." Despite herself, she raised her hand, tracing his adult face with her fingers, as she listened to his childish voice, desperately searching for a glimmer, a sign that maybe he was still in there. Maybe he'd remember. Maybe she'd again see the mind of her long time friend rather than the childish fragments that were all that had survived his torture by Ba'al.

Thanks to the sarcophagus, his body had escaped relatively intact, sustaining injuries that had been easily healed by a healing device and time. But his mind…his mind perished on P2X887. Sometime during those interminable weeks, the Daniel Jackson she'd always known and cared for died, leaving behind little Danny, a young boy who had no concept of good or bad, who knew no evil or pain.

To the rest of the universe, they were dead. Lost among the endless, nameless victims of Ba'al's atrocities. For a while, she had entertained the fantasy of going home. Cherished the idea of again being among her friends, but O'Neill's recent capture just proved how foolish that idea was.

To quote the general, they were famous. And, in this life, fame brought danger. The living were hunted, only the dead were safe. And she had to stay safe. That was the only way she could take care of Daniel.

"Nesa taught me something today," he said, smiling broadly at her.

"What did she show you?" Sam asked, deliberately smiling wide at her friend. He was the only one that didn't stare, the only one that didn't seem to see her scar. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, all he saw was the friend he used to know.

He pulled her forward, splashing in the shallow water. He picked up some rocks, holding one out to her. "I can make them jump over the water," he said, clumsily skipping the rock across the shallow stream. It bounced twice before sinking with a plop.

"He once got it to go all the way across," Nesa said, joining them. She lived with Sy'nac and Ry'ac, helping them care for Daniel when Sam had to be away.

"You did?" Sam asked. "Well, you're just going to have to show me."

"I will," Daniel said, picking up more rocks. He skipped one across the water and Sam joined him, laughing with him as they engaged in a game as old as time, their friendship a bond that was thicker than blood and stronger than life.

Fin

To be continued in 'Better Late than Never'


	2. Better Late Than Never

Title- Better Late Than Never

Better Late than Never

By

Denise

She knelt in the grass, feeling the warmth of the sun at her back. Birds sang in the distance, their calls barely audible over the buzz of insects. This planet was fertile, full of life, an idyllic oasis of peace in a galaxy of strife.

The strife was ending, she knew. Word of Ba'al's death had come just weeks before, and with it, hope. Hope that their future would no longer consist of terror and fear. Hope that the galaxy would finally know peace.

But it was a peace that had come too late.

Someone walked towards her. She could hear the crunch of the grass, feel the presence growing closer and closer. She knew it was him. Even though it had been years, she could still recognize his distinctive pace.

Her hand twitched, her fingers ready to activate the imager. She relaxed her grip, letting the small device fall into her lap. No. She didn't need it anymore.

He came closer and she fought the urge to get up and run. She could beat him, she knew that. She was used to running. Used to staying one step ahead.

It was time to stop.

He stood right behind her, close enough that she could feel him, smell him. He said nothing and she could imagine what he looked like. His feet apart, hands clasped loosely behind his back. The bulky fabric of his fatigues making his legs look big while his jacket hung from his shoulders. A well worn cap covered short cropped hair, probably a lot more silver than she'd last seen.

There would be more lines on his face now. The stress and trials of the past few years would have left its mark, not only upon his body but also upon his soul.

She was afraid to look at him, afraid of what she'd see. Would he be disappointed in her? Angry at her decision? Or would he understand? Accept that she'd done the only thing she could do.

"How did it happen?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Last winter," she said softly, dreading the topic but knowing that he needed to know, deserved to know. "He loved being outside. Which was amazing. Even after Ba'al—I would have thought that outside was the last place he'd want to be, but I was wrong. There was a storm, a blizzard. He wandered off, playing in the snow."

_Snow up to her knees, clinging to her leg, bogging her down. Tiny little flakes turned into minute missiles by a biting wind. Struggling to breathe, the icy air burning her lungs. The howl of the wind ripping their words away, rendering communication useless._

"We found him, but he was so cold."

_Stiff, white skin looking like fine porcelain under the rough, hand-woven scarf. Dark lashes fanning over smooth cheeks atop blue lips. He looked like he was asleep, curled up in a peaceful ball._

"We brought him back."

_Trying to make it home. Fighting to keep up with Ry'ac, her fingers digging into the back of his coat, knowing that, without his strength, she'd never get Daniel home._

"Warmed him up."

_Cutting off the frozen clothes, trying to avoid hurting him, but knowing he'd never feel it if they did. Baring more and more skin to the warmth of the room. Nicking him with the knife, a cut that didn't bleed for hours. Lying next to him, shuddering as she came into contact with his stiff, cold skin as Ry'ac stoked the fire. Helping Syn'ac wrap him in warmed blankets. Lying there awake, afraid to fall asleep, afraid that, if she did, she'd awake next to a corpse._

"He survived. But he was so sick."

_A pale form lying on the bed, his hair matted with sweat. Soft moans cutting through the stillness of the night. Endless hours spent bathing his body, trying to cool the fever. Harsh coughs that nearly tore his body apart, ending with gasping breaths._

_Praying for him to survive, afraid that he would._

"Asha finally came. She healed the pneumonia but he was weak." She reached out, tracing the letters cut into the metallic surface. It'd taken her weeks to get it right. Weeks to find the acidic compound to etch the trinium. Weeks to precisely spell out Daniel's name. There was no date. She never could figure out which one to use. When his spirit died, or when his body finally joined it.

The presence at her back left and she closed her eyes. He'd gotten what he'd come for. There was no need to stay.

Much to her surprise, he knelt at her side. His hand joined hers, fingers trailing across the burnished metal. "After all the times he died, pneumonia's a little anti-climactic," he muttered.

"It wasn't pneumonia," she said, glancing at him for the first time. "Ja'kon started to walk this spring."

"Ja'kon?"

She smiled, looking down at her knees. "Ry'ac's daughter. He named her after her grandfather's best friend."

"Poor kid."

"She got too close to the paddock, crawled right under the fence. The horse was skittish and—Daniel never knew. He—" She closed her eyes, remembering that fateful afternoon.

It was a beautiful spring day, warm and sunny. The scent of wild flowers wafting on the gentle breeze. The ground was soft and muddy, fresh from the night's rain.

"There was a new foal. Ja'kon loved it. She was fascinated by a horse that was her size. She wanted to pet it. But the mare…"

_A cry cutting through the air, mixing with Ja'kon's high scream and Ry'ac's panicked curses. Daniel yelling, flying into the paddock, throwing himself beneath the mare's feet. The wet slap of hooves into flesh. Ja'kon's sobs as a body laid so still in the mud._

"He never woke up."

_Washing the mud off Daniel's still form, the water quickly turning a macabre mixture of black and red. Kissing every bruise, binding every cut. Combing the tangles from his hair before wrapping him in the shroud._

_Following Ry'ac as he carried Daniel up to the hill top, not understand, but ceding to her wishes for a burial. Standing beside him as he pushed shovel after shovel of dirt into the hole. Relieved that Daniel was finally at peace, ashamed that she felt relief._

"Why didn't you come home?" He asked.

"Come home to what?" She frowned.

"Come home to me?"

She opened her eyes, looking up at him for the first time. "I—I was afraid," she whispered.

"I knew you were alive," he said.

"How?"

"Clicks," he answered. She shook her head. "Kalina said the stargate was thirty clicks away," he reminded.

"Oh." She looked down.

"It didn't hit me for a while." He grinned at her. "I thought about coming back. Tracking down one of the Tok'ra and making them tell me where you were."

"Why didn't you?"

"I figured you had a reason." Unconsciously her hand crept up to her face, her fingers finding the ridge of her scar. "A better one than that," he said, his fingers wrapping around her wrist.

"I had to take care of Daniel," she whispered.

"C'mere." Warm arms wrapped around her back, pulling her close to his chest. She sank into him, burying her face into his neck. "I'm gonna take care of you now."

Fin


	3. It's Never Too Late

Jack ushered Sam through the halls, his eyes constantly darting over to her

Originally written for the Revelation Zine. This is part 3 of three that spun off the original idea of 'what if Jack hadn't opened the iris in time in Zero Hour'

It's Never too Late

By

Denise

Jack ushered Sam through the halls, his eyes constantly darting over to her. She was uncharacteristically quiet; in fact, he didn't remember her saying much from the time they'd retrieved her few belongings from Ry'ac's house.

"Ry'ac's got himself a hell of a family," Jack said, returning the nods of the people in the hall. He doubted that many of them even knew who his companion was. After all, it had been nearly four years since she'd last walked these halls.

Sam silently nodded and he felt her edge closer to him as SG-3 walked past. Jack frowned, not used to her being so timid. "Hey," he said, grasping her hand as soon as the Marines were past. "They don't bite you know."

"I'm just not used to so many people," she said softly.

He nodded, pausing to summon the elevator. "We won't be here very long," he reassured. The car arrived and he ushered her in, pushing the button for level twenty-one.

"I'm fine," she protested, divining their destination.

"Sam, it's been four years," he said. "Humor me."

The elevator door opened and he led her out, guiding her towards the infirmary. "Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter, this is Doctor Carolyn Lam," he introduced as the doctor caught sight of them and made her way across the room. "Doctor Lam replaced Doctor Brightman," he explained.

"General O'Neill," Lam acknowledged. "Colonel Carter." She smiled, shoving her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. "I've heard a lot about you."

"And a lot of it is true," Jack said, keeping his tone light. He could see the tenseness in Sam's shoulders. A wariness in her stance. He wished that he could say that he was surprised but he wasn't. He knew that it had to be hard for her. Not only to come back from the dead, but to also return to a place that had been so much a part of her life – a place that had carried on without her. "I need to go talk to Landry," he said, smiling at Sam.

"Who?" she asked, frowning at him.

"Hank Landry. He's running the place now," Jack replied.

"You're not?"

"Not anymore," Jack said. He laid his hand on her shoulder, hoping to reassure her. "It's a long story. You'll be just fine here with Doctor Lam." Jack turned his attention to the doctor. "I'll be back in about an hour," he said.

"Yes, sir." She turned towards Sam. "Colonel, if you'd come with me we'll get started." Sam looked at him and Jack nodded, not sure if he was giving her permission or promising her that she'd be safe.

Her shoulders slumped a bit and she moved away from him. He watched as she followed Doctor Lam, not leaving the infirmary until both of them were sequestered behind a privacy curtain. He hurried from the room, his long legs making short work of the corridor.

True, he'd told the women that he wouldn't be back for an hour, but the sooner he could get this meeting over the sooner he could get back down here, get back to Sam.

In his mind, he knew his fear was irrational, that she wasn't going anywhere. But in his heart, he could still remember the sickening sound of silence. The desperation of an empty wormhole. The painful realization that he'd failed them – let them down.

He wasn't going to do it again. Somehow, through some miracle of fate, he had her back. And he wasn't going to lose her again.

/\/\/\/\/\

Hank sighed and scrawled his name. Mrs. Mendelhson would be so disappointed. She'd spent the better part of a year teaching him penmanship and how to perfectly form the letters of his name. A name that was now little more than a sprawling scratching of ink on the paper.

He heard a knock and looked up, gratefully setting his paperwork aside. "Jack. Come in." He waved the other general into his office. There were still boxes in the corner and a few of the walls were mostly bare, adorned only by naked nails. "Forgive the mess."

Jack shrugged as he sat down. "It's no worse than when I packed up," he said. "Amazing how much crap you accumulate in a couple of years. I hope I'm not interrupting," he said, pushing aside the small talk and getting down to business. Which was precisely what Hank expected. Jack never was one for meaningless chitchat.

"Nothing I don't want interrupted," Hank said. "I understand that your mission was a success? I'm sorry I wasn't there to greet her." He gestured towards the red telephone sitting to his left. "You know how it is."

"All too well," Jack agreed.

"How is she?"

"She's up with Doctor Lam right now," Jack said. "But she seems ok."

"That's good," Hank said. "I hope I get a chance to meet her."

"It probably won't take Lam very long. If you have a few minutes—"

"Actually, I don't," Hank interrupted. He nodded towards the window and the SG team members milling around. "I have a briefing with SG-8 in a few minutes."

"Well then I'll let you go—"

"Hang on," Hank stopped Jack from getting to his feet. He picked up a folder and handed it to Jack. "That's what I was on the phone about." Jack took it. "Colonel Carter's status has been changed from MIA to active duty. I don't know if I can do anything about four years worth of back pay, but the President and Joint Chiefs are willing to sign off on her having a full retirement at the rank of full Colonel in deference to all her contributions to this command."

"That's great, Hank, thanks." Jack glanced into the folder then shut it. "I'll let you get on with your briefing." He got to his feet.

"Are you taking Colonel Carter home?"

Jack nodded. "Presuming that she doesn't have an issue with it."

"I can't see why she would."

Hank got up and pulled a folder off Walter's neatly stacked pile. "Duty calls. But if you need something, let me know," he offered.

"I will, thanks."

Jack left the office and Hank stared after him for a second before shaking his head. "I hope you get your happy ending," he muttered before leaving his office and opening the door to the briefing room.

/\/\/\/\/\

A shape in the doorway caught her eyes and Carolyn looked up. Realizing whom it was, she waved him in, holding her finger to her lips to urge him to be silent. He walked into her office and she shut the door. "Sir."

"Doc?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said interpreting the alarm that flashed across his face. "I just don't want her knowing that we're talking about her."

"How is she?"

Carolyn retook her seat and urged him to sit as well. "So far, everything looks good," she said. "She's a bit underweight and I'm sure she's anemic, but she seems in good general health."

He sighed, his relief plain to see. "That's good to hear."

Carolyn smiled. "I thought you'd like that news," she said. "I didn't have time for an in-depth exam, and frankly I don't think she's in the mood for one. There are a few scars that weren't a part of her medical record, but all seem to be relatively old and healed. The blood work should be back tomorrow sometime and I can let you know if it shows anything but….all in all, she's fine."

"Can we go then?" he asked.

Carolyn shrugged. "Sure." Jack got to his feet, eager to rejoin Sam. "Sir?" She called him back before he could open the door. "When she's ready, I know a couple of good plastic surgeons. I don't know if they can remove the scar on her face totally, but they can probably reduce it. Make it less noticeable."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

Jack opened the door and left her office while Carolyn trailed in his wake. "She's over there, sir," she directed, pointing out a shrouded bed. "And she's free to go whenever she feels like it."

"That's good to hear, Doc. I owe you one," he said, keeping up the fallacy that they hadn't just spoken privately. "Sam?" he paused just outside the curtain. "You ready?"

She pulled the curtain back and stood there, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Yeah."

Jack stood beside her, holding out one arm to guide her. "Let's blow this Popsicle stand, huh?" he suggested.

The pair of them left the infirmary and Carolyn watched them go for a second before she crossed over to the deserted bed, efficiently balling up the bed linens. From her first day at the SGC, she'd heard the stories. She knew all about the famed SG-1 and their missions were the stuff of legends. Stories that seemed better suited to a TV movie.

Colonel Carter, Doctor Jackson and Teal'c were the stuff of legends. But somehow the quiet woman with the long hair and scarred face didn't seem very legendary to her. She seemed heartbreakingly ordinary.

And maybe that was just what O'Neill saw in her. He didn't see a legend, he saw a woman.

/\/\/\/\/\

Sam sat in the passenger seat, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched the darkened scenery flash by. It was night in Colorado Springs and only the streetlights and illuminated signs chased away the darkness.

She shivered, her leather leggings and woolen tunic no match for the current conditions. "The heat will kick in in a minute," Jack said, taking hand off the wheel to manipulate the controls. "I should have grabbed you a jacket, I'm sorry," he said.

"It's ok," she said, glancing over at him.

"No, it's not. I kinda forgot that it was cold," he said. They stopped at an intersection, the traffic heavy even though it was late.

"I don't remember this," she said.

"I don't think it existed when you left," he said. "There have actually been a lot of new stores built lately. Old Chicago, Red Robin, about fifteen Starbucks. Oh, and there's a Krispy Kreme in Fountain now."

"Teal'c liked those," she said, surprised to hear the words coming out of her mouth. She never talked about Teal'c, hadn't even mentioned his name out loud for years. She felt Jack looking at her, his attention divided between her and the traffic.

"He did have a sweet tooth, didn't he," he finally said. Sam nodded. "It always amazed me. This big hulking Jaffa, ready to kill people with his bare hands who was also a sugar junkie."

Sam grinned slightly. "He used to do his best to talk me out of my rations," she said. "The best way to get out of KP was to pack an extra handful of Laffy Taffy."

"So that's where he got his jokes from," Jack said, applying pressure to the accelerator as the light changed. "I knew his humor was lame."

"He'd send them in," she said. "I don't know if any every got accepted." Her voice trailed off, the pain of her friend's absence striking her in the gut. She missed him. Missed him so much that it hurt.

She closed her eyes, seeing again the calm acceptance on his face as he stood there, passively waiting for her to grant his last wish, waiting for her to kill him. She uncrossed her arms and rubbed her hands together, hoping to gain a little warmth from the friction of callous' rubbing over callous'. The light from a street lamp flooded the cab for a second, making the light flesh of her hands flare white in the darkness.

Dirty, they were so dirty. Teal'c's blood stained them, a stain that she'd never be able to erase. She'd murdered him, murdered her friend.

"Do you want one?" Jack's voice broke into her thoughts.

"What?"

"The KK's right over there. Want a donut?"

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

"Ok." He changed lanes. "We'll be home in a few minutes."

Sam fell silent, sitting back as the fan started to blast out luke warm air. She turned her eyes out the window, struggling to find something familiar, something to confirm that she really was home. That it wasn't some dream, some fantasy.

Maybe she was like Daniel, lost in the hallucinations of his fevered mind. Maybe she was still on the planet, asleep in her cot in the attic. Maybe she'd finally lost her mind, finally succumbed to the insanity that had beckoned her for years, that had teased her ever since that terrifying moment when the wormhole shut down.

"It's real," Jack said.

"What?" She turned back to look at him.

"You're wondering if it's a dream or something. It's not. It's real. You're home."

"How do you—"

"Hey, three months on Edora, another one with Harry. Four…somewhere a lot worse. I know how it feels."

"I guess you do," she said softly.

"One step at a time," he said. "Go home, get something to eat, a good night's sleep, then we'll go from there." He stopped at a stop sign and reached over, laying his hand on her leg. "One step at a time. No hurry, no pressure."

"Ok," she agreed, soothed by the tone of his voice and the promise in his tone.

He squeezed her leg and turned his attention back to the road. He removed his hand and Sam shivered again, missing the warmth. He brushed his fingers over the radio controls, turning it on and filling the cab with soft music.

Sam sighed softly, aware that the music would preclude the need to talk. Dry heat blasted out of the vents and she blinked, her eyes suddenly dry. She wasn't used to this. Dry heat, soft cushions, electricity. It was so bright. She'd forgotten just how un-dark the night was in a city.

They drove through another busy intersection and Sam closed her eyes, suddenly unable to handle the assault. She could hear the throaty hum of the engine, just barely audible over the radio. The tires made an odd clicking sound as they rolled over cracks in the pavement. The air from the heater washed over her face, making her skin feel hot and tight. It smelled dusty, like maybe the truck hadn't been washed in a while or that maybe Colorado was in the middle of one of its infamous short droughts.

Everything she heard was familiar, but also alien. She couldn't smell the wood fire that Sy'nac kept burning in the hearth. She couldn't hear Jak'ron's giggles and broken childish words. She couldn't smell Nesa's porridge simmering in its pot. The fabric under her body bore little resemblance to the soft woolen blankets Sy'nac made.

She was home, but she wasn't.

The truck stopped and Sam opened her eyes, blinking slightly. "Here we are," Jack said needlessly, turning off the engine. Sam absently reached over, struggling a bit to release the catch on the seat belt. She opened the door and slid out, shivering again as she left the warm confines of the truck.

Jack appeared at her side, smoothly sliding his jacket off and wrapping it around her shoulders. He led her up the walk, pausing to push the key into the lock. He ushered her into the house, closing the door behind them. "I would imagine that you want to get cleaned up," he said, tossing his keys onto the table.

"A bathtub?" she asked, the idea of gallons of hot water and her soaking in it suddenly sounding as appealing as a ten course meal.

"Right where it was last time," he said, smiling. "Take your time. I'm going to go see if I can round up something for you to wear."

Sam walked down the hall, leaving Jack behind as she made her way to the bathroom. Once there, she slid out of the jacket, carefully hanging it on the hook on the back of the door. She crossed to the bathtub, dropping the plug into the drain and turning on the taps. She took a moment to watch, placing her fingers in the stream of water, marveling at the mundane magic that not only had clean water gushing out of the pipes, but that it was hot as well. It swirled into the bottom of the tub, bubbling and roiling.

It smelled clean, not like the water she was used to. Ry'ac used the water from the stream to bathe and it was rare that it was ever more than a simple sponge bath. There simply weren't enough hours in the day to carry gallons and gallons of water, not to mention wasting the wood to heat it.

She got up and started taking off her clothes, her fingers fumbling in her eagerness. Naked, she stepped into the tub, her toes curling against the bottom as she sank down into the filling tub. She stretched out, the water covering her legs.

Steam rose and she breathed deep, pausing a second before she reached for the soap. She raised it to her face, smelling it. She'd missed that too, scented soap. It smelled good, a combination of pine and sandalwood. It smelled like Jack.

She dipped the soap into the water and worked it into a lather, reaching for the scrubby that was hanging from a hook on the side of the tub. She scrubbed herself, enjoying the rough feeling of the nylon mesh as it rubbed over her skin.

She rinsed off the lather, her eyes catching sight of the damp ends of her hair. It was longer and she knew that it desperately needed a wash. The tub was now full and she turned off the water before laying back, ducking her head underwater. Grabbing Jack's shampoo, she washed her hair, laying back in the water to rinse it out.

She sat back up and, seeing Jack's razor on the edge of the sink, she stepped out of the tub and retrieved it, the need to be clean superceding any hesitation in using his stuff. Ten minutes later, she reluctantly pulled the plug on the tub and got out. Realizing that she didn't have anything clean to wear, she settled for drying herself off, using one towel to dry her hair while she wrapped the other around her like a sarong.

There was a knock on the door and it opened slightly. "I found this," Jack said, sticking his hand through the crack. Sam reached out and took the clothing. "I'm gonna go see what there is to eat," he said, pulling the door shut.

Alone again, Sam set the clothes down on the closed toilet lid and examined it. She frowned, realizing that it seemed familiar. She pulled out a pair of panties and recognized them as hers. She shook out the sweat pants and t-shirt and recognized them too.

Wondering what he was doing with her clothes and realizing that only he could answer it, she got dressed. The elastic rubbed against her skin. She wasn't used to that either. Jaffa didn't have elastic and everything either fit loose or tied. Even the underwear lying on the floor tied on the side.

She picked up and folded the clothes, unable to just abandon them. Sy'nac had woven the shirt and the leather of the leggings Sam had cured herself.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, her eyes settling on the ridge of the scar. She couldn't go out, not like this.

Fumbling through the medicine cabinet, she found a comb. She unwrapped her hair and combed it out, careful to part it on one side so that it fell across her face, disguising the scar a bit.

Knowing that she couldn't stay in the bathroom forever, she hung up the two towels and opened the door. She padded into the living room, stopping short at the sight of Jack seated in a chair, an open box in front of him. "What are you doing?" she asked, staring at the piles of clothes.

"Most of this stuff seems ok, but I think it could use a freshening up," he said, looking up at her. "Maybe I'll run it through the laundry tomorrow."

"Why do you have my clothes?" she asked, picking up one of her favorite sweatshirts. Daniel had bought it for her years ago in Seattle after they'd rescued her from Adrian Conrad. They hadn't been able to find her clothes and she'd been cold, so Daniel had run into a local gift shop, emerging with a too large but fantastically warm sweatshirt emblazoned with the Mariner's logo.

"We packed up your house," he said.

"We?"

"Mark and I," Jack clarified. "We had a few words. I believed that you were coming home, he didn't, so we compromised." Jack got to his feet. "We sold your house and Mark put the money in trust for the kids, just like you wanted. I kept your stuff. Most of it's been in storage but…I retrieved this a couple of days ago. I figured you'd want it when you came home."

"What if I hadn't?" she asked.

Jack shrugged. "Then it'd be up to me to sort through things and dispose of them," he said. "Hey, I bet you're hungry." He changed the subject with breakneck speed. "I've got some soup, maybe a sandwich. We could even order in. Are you in the mood for Chinese?"

"A sandwich is fine," she said, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the choices. Sy'nac and  
Ry'ac rarely had a choice of what they ate. Dinner was what you caught, traded for or shot. And their greatest concern was less what you ate and more that you did eat.

"Sandwich it is," he agreed. He went into the kitchen leaving her to follow. She did and slid into a chair as Jack dug in the refrigerator, pulling out bread, meat and cheese.

He made two sandwiches and set them on plates, putting one in front of her and one across from her. Sam picked up her sandwich, the texture of the bread odd under her fingertips. The soft white bread was nothing like the coarse whole grain bread that was a staple at Ry'ac's house.

Jack reached up and plucked a couple of bags of chips off the top of the refrigerator. He set them down between them and opened the refrigerator door. Sam raised her eyebrows as he set two cans of diet Coke on the table. "I've acquired the taste," he said, finally sitting down.

He picked up his sandwich, taking a large bite. Sam ate a lot slower, taking the time to reacquaint herself with the taste and textures of the food. "What happens now?" she asked, setting down her half eaten sandwich.

Jack shrugged, looking at his watch. "Well, it's not too late. We could watch a little TV, catch up on things."

Sam shook her head, her still damp hair falling across her face. "I mean, what happens to me?" She looked up at him. "I doubt I'm going back to work."

"If you want to, I'm sure something can be arranged but." He shrugged. "We can start small if you want to, see if there's an apartment out there that you like. Something low maintenance so that you don't have to mess with lawn work and all that. Actually that's what Landry and I talked about, at least in a way. The Air Force is more than willing to let you retire, with full benefits. You can take the money and start over."

"Start over," she said, her voice small as his words sank in. Find an apartment. Start over. She didn't want to start over. She'd done that a few too many times in her life. She'd started over after her mother died. After she broke up with Jonas. After the Stargate program had been shut down. After Edora. After the zatarc. After Thera. After Daniel died. After he'd come back. She'd started over with Kalina.

She was tired of starting over.

"Or not," Jack said, seeming to catch her mood. He reached out and grabbed her hand. "Sam, nothing has to happen right away. Take some time, chill out, catch up. Me case, su casa. You can stay here as long as you want."

She pulled her hand out from his and got to her feet, ignoring his attempts to extract his foot from his mouth. He didn't want her here, fine. She didn't want to be the object of anyone's pity. "I'm aah, I'm kinda tired," she said, latching on the first excuse she could think of.

"Right," he said, also getting to his feet. "Let me go and make up the spare room."

He hurried from the room and she sank back down into the chair, her legs shaking slightly. Her stomach growled and she rubbed her it, realizing that it had been several hours since she'd eaten.

She opened one of the bags of chips and put a handful on the plate beside her half-eaten sandwich. She then grabbed the unopened diet Coke and got back to her feet, intent upon taking her snack with her. Food was food and you ate when you could.

Take some time. She'd take some time all right. Nice quiet time by herself. Time to regroup and figure out exactly what the hell she was going to do with herself now.

/\/\/\/\/\

Jack rolled over, an unfamiliar noise pulling him from a sound sleep. He reached for his nightstand, his hand falling back to the mattress when he remembered that it was probably Sam.

He pushed back the covers and sat on the side of the bed. He was torn. He wanted to go out there, hell he wanted to have her in here but he couldn't do that. He couldn't take advantage of her that way.

He knew how she felt. She was shaky, unsure, off balance. She probably felt vulnerable and likely all too aware of her situation. She didn't have anywhere to live, no money, no car, hell the only clothes she had were the ones he packed away.

She was dependant on him. And that was the reason that he had to do everything in his power to get her back on her own two feet as quickly as possible. He wasn't just doing this for her, he was doing it for himself.

He heard more noise from outside and he sighed, realizing that he couldn't keep ignoring it. He got to his feet and padded over to his dresser. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and put them on, acknowledging that he just couldn't prowl around in his boxers right now.

Taking a moment, he pulled open the drawer of the nightstand and picked up a small box. He opened it and looked inside, granting himself a small reprieve to remind himself just why he was doing what he was doing.

Taking a deep breath, he shut the box and returned it to its place. He left his bedroom and made his way into the livingroom. Sam was kneeling in front of one of the boxes and had clothes piled on the floor. "Need a hand?" he offered, doing his best to keep his tone light.

Sam looked up, her hand going to her chest in startlement. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

Jack shrugged. "No biggie. I rarely sleep through the night anyway. Whatcha up to?" He sat down on the couch, deliberately keeping his distance.

"I just though I'd sort through this," she said. She looked up and him, then looked down. Jack noticed that she tilted her head, doing her best to keep her hair spilling across her face. "See what all I need and…well I don't know what I'll do if I need something else. I mean I don't exactly have a lot of options at the moment. Maybe Mark can loan me some money or something and--"

"Stop," he interrupted. He got off the couch and knelt beside her. He reached up and touched her hair, brushing it away from her face and tucking the long strands behind her ear. "Don't hide from me."

"Jack, I—" She tried to pull away.

"It doesn't matter to me," he said, tracing the ridge of the scar as he tried to put all the sincerity he could muster into his voice. "All I care about is that you're here. You're alive and you're home."

"Jack, stop," she said. "You've made yourself perfectly clear. I'll try to get out of your hair as quickly as I can. Maybe there's some base housing over at Peterson I can get into."

"Come here," he said, pulling her to her feet. He grasped one hand and led her to the bedroom. Guiding her to sit on the bed, he opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out the small black box. He knelt in front of her and opened it, revealing the ring he'd first shown her four years ago.

_"We could end up with someone a lot worse?" he asked, barely waiting until Daniel and Teal'c were out of the room to tease her._

_"I said it didn't come out right," she said, a flush coloring her cheeks. "You're going to make a good general." She looked away from him, the emotion in her eyes not matching the tone of her voice._

_"It does kinda screw up our plans though," he said, keeping his voice low. _

_"Is there a day when our plans haven't been screwed up?" She shook her head slightly, stepping back. "Maybe it's time to accept that some things were just never meant to be."_

_Her expression was downfallen and Jack knew what she meant. After seven years and three alternate universes, it seemed that this one had the cards stacked against them. _

_"Or you tell fate to bite me and you take care of things yourself," he said. She frowned at him and he took a deep breath, well aware that he was flirting with fire at the moment. _

_There were things that, once said, couldn't be unsaid, done, couldn't be undone. And he was about to do one of those things. He pulled a small fake velvet box out of his pocket and opened it, holding it out in front of him. Her eyes grew wide and Jack took a moment to enjoy catching her off guard. It wasn't often that he got to do that. "Six months," he said, looking her in the eyes. "Give me six months to round up a new CO for this place and then I'll make good on this promise."_

"I've carried this with me every day since I met Kalina and realized that you were alive. This is why I didn't quit like I wanted to. As long as I was at the SGC I could keep tabs on things. I could hear the reports and read the briefings first hand, not some sanitized and edited version.

As soon as we knew the last goa'uld, the last major one anyway, was dead, that's when I called Hank. The last thing I did as commander of Stargate Command was to retrieve one very important missing officer." Jack squeezed her hand, making sure that he had her attention. "And if she hadn't have come back to Earth with me, I was prepared to stay off world with her. Sam, we've already lost ten years of our lives, I don't want to lose any more."

She shook her head, not making any attempt to take the ring. "But all the talk about an apartment and—"

"If I had my way, we would have rounded up the base chaplain and had him marry us the second you set foot on the ramp. I want nothing more than to make you my wife. But I also don't want you to marry me because you don't have anything else to do.

I love you just as much as I did the first day I put this ring on your finger. But I don't know if you still feel the same way."

"Daniel and Teal'c—"

"Daniel and Teal'c died because I was too much of a wuss to make a decision. You, and they, did what you had to to survive. If anyone is responsible for their deaths, it's me."

She shook her head. "Ba'al killed them. He killed Daniel and he…" Her voice broke and she covered her mouth with her hands. He got off the floor and sat beside her on the bed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "I killed him," she mumbled into his neck, letting him pull her close.

"Daniel was sick." She shook her head again and Jack realized what she was talking about. "You did exactly what he wanted."

She pulled away from him, extricating herself from his arms. "I killed Teal'c," she said. "He was alive and standing there – unarmed – and I took my zat and I shot him. And I shot him again and I shot him again. I murdered him."

Jack reached out and took her shoulders. "You saved him. You gave him exactly what he wanted. You gave him peace. I'm willing to bet his only regret was that he left you two behind to fight without him. What you did for Teal'c wasn't murder, it was mercy. And there's no greater gift."

She stared at him for a few seconds before her eyes closed and her shoulders slumped. Recognizing her acceptance of his words he again pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms. He felt her sink against him, warm tears running down his bare chest.

He closed his eyes and let himself focus on the simple feeling of having her in his arms. It was something he'd honestly never thought he'd feel again. Her here, warm and alive.

He ran his hands up and down her back, seeking to soothe her tears. "I don't hate you," he said, anticipating her feelings. "I don't think I could ever hate you. I'm sorry that I screwed up, that I didn't get you home like I should have. I'm sorry that I wasn't there with you guys, that I couldn't keep it from happening."

"I hated you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"I know."

"You left us behind."

Her quiet accusation stung and he tightened his grip. "I know," he said.

"You feel sorry for me."

"NO!" he said sharply. He loosened his grip and put his hands on her shoulders, making her look at him. "I don't pity you. I'll never pity you. You're not here because I feel sorry for you, you're here because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And if I have to tell you this ten times a day to make you believe me, I will," he promised.

He fought to keep his frustration from his voice, at a loss as to what it would take to convince her. She was so damn stubborn. It was probably why she was still alive. But, right now, it didn't make him feel any better.

"I think once is enough," she said, wiping her face with her hands. He stared, not quite sure what she was saying. "Maybe twice if it's a bad day."

"Sam?"

"Can we just have a long engagement, maybe a few months? I think I need to get caught up with things first before I try to plan a wedding."

"Yeah, we can do that." Jack grinned, barely able to believe that she'd said yes. "Next week, next month, next year. Whenever you're ready, I'll be here." He fumbled on the bed, finding the jeweler's box and pulling the ring out with suddenly clumsy fingers. Sam held out her hand and let him slide the ring onto her finger.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've dreamed about doing this?" he asked, ignoring that his voice shook a bit. The ring slipped over her knuckle and came to a rest at the base of her finger, rolling slightly, fitting loosely. He'd have to fix that, put some meat on her bones so that her ring fit better.

"Really? See, I've had a different dream." Sam leaned in and wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips meeting his.

Jack groaned, surrendering to the feeling, finally accepting the idea that his dream had come true and his love was finally home.

/\/\/\/\/\

Hours later, Sam sat beside the bed, listening to Jack sleep. She breathed deep, savoring the smell that was uniquely his.

Outside, a car with the radio playing too loud blasted down the street. Two cats howled at each other and a helicopter circled high over head.

Outside it was chaos.

But that didn't matter. She wasn't outside. She was here. She was home.

Fin


End file.
